


The Dreaming Forest

by alassenya



Series: Pride, Passion and Prejudice [4]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alassenya/pseuds/alassenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was it that kept Legolas in Middle-Earth when most of the elves went to Aman?  An alternative interpretation of the Lothlórien scenes in FOTR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreaming Forest

**Author's Note:**

> In contrast to "Hot Summer Night / Winter Fires" and "Blizzard", this story was originally written in 2004 as a chapter in "Pride, Passion and Prejudice", and later adapted as a stand-alone for the [Fic Inspirations Challenge 5 - LOTR Chapter Titles](http://fic-inspiration.livejournal.com/2005/01/09/) in January 2005. This is the stand-alone form. Beta by Suemichave.
> 
> Glossary:  
>  _talan_ (pl _telain_ ) = a platform built around a tree that might hold a lookout or a dwelling.  
>  _mallorn_ (pl _mellyrn_ ) = a large, golden-leaved tree found in Lothlórien but rarely elsewhere.  
>  _hithlain_ (mist-cloth) = an elven fibre of extraordinary warmth, strength and concealing power.

_Lothlórien, III 3019 January 15_

“The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark.”

The voice was just as Legolas remembered it - lazy, sensuous, and completely self-assured - and he was shocked by the thrill that it sent through his body. Haldir glided out from behind the nearest tree (just four feet away - Eru! - he had not been paying attention), and approached the group warily.

Legolas maintained the tension on his bow as they were surrounded by the Lothlórien elves, praying that the dwarf would keep his temper this time. He looked steadily at Haldir, hoping for a smile or a word of greeting, but Haldir was listening only to Aragorn, who was asking for help and protection. The guardian had changed a little since Legolas had last seen him, more than a hundred years before, but only a very little. There was more dignity, more gravitas in his demeanour, and less humour. His features were as beautiful as ever, but there was something... something around the eyes, perhaps.

Aragorn finished speaking. Haldir considered a moment, then nodded once and turned away, and they were escorted swiftly through the forest to one of the huge mellyrn. The late afternoon sun, which had warmed them as they ran from Moria, faded as they went deeper into the forest, and it was soon dark.

Legolas kept to the rear of their little group with Boromir, who was becoming increasingly concerned about the halflings: it had been a long and exhausting day, and they were worn out. When they eventually reached the talan, one of several built around the periphery of the forest, he saw their look of dismay as they contemplated how high it was, and how delicate the rope-ladder they were expected to climb. He tried to reassure them, though he knew how much they would hate being up so far above the ground.

"Fear not, my friends, the rope is made of hithlain. Though it looks frail, it would carry ten times your weight with ease. And there is room enough and to spare on the talan - no need to worry that you will roll over the edge."

They still appeared apprehensive, particularly the otherwise stolid Samwise. After a meaningful look at Boromir, Legolas added, "And Boromir and I shall sleep on either side of you, to make doubly sure." He was cheered by the relieved smiles that appeared on all their faces, and by the grin from Boromir.

Aragorn and Haldir had already climbed to the talan. With Boromir's assistance, he got the halflings up the ladder and then held the base of it steady as Gimli prepared to make his ascent. Though Boromir had hauled the halflings' packs and weapons up on another rope, Gimli insisted on retaining every ounce of his apparel, saying "I'll not have it said that a dwarf cannot carry his own weapons! And I don't need any assistance from anyone!" He waved Legolas away, in spite of his protestations, and put one foot on the bottom rung. As he raised the other foot off the ground his weight shifted and the rope ladder started to swing back and forth.

"Aaarrgghh!" came the anguished cry, as Gimli's body tilted back precariously. For a moment, Legolas thought he was going to fall off, but he had underestimated the strength in those arms. With a determination that impressed even the Lórien elves, and a muttering of imprecations under his breath, Gimli reached up an arm, then a leg, then another arm... Slowly, painfully, ungracefully but, above all, successfully, Gimli climbed the delicate ladder and hauled himself onto the talan.

Legolas was the last of the Fellowship to reach the leafy platform. It was huge, at least fifteen yards across, and obviously doubled as a stores depot, for there were bundles nestled into various angles and hollows on the platform and in the surrounding branches.

Haldir was deep in discussion with his brothers. Rúmil was obviously trying to persuade Haldir to follow some course of action; Orophin, whom Legolas knew the least well of the three, was arguing the opposite. Haldir was silent but his posture indicated that he didn't agree with either of them. Legolas moved quietly to stand with Aragorn and the others, noting that all the other guardians carefully avoided looking at him.

Haldir finished with his brothers and turned back to the motley group of travellers. His expression remained neutral as he greeted them formally; Legolas first, of course, as befitted his rank.

“Welcome, Legolas son of Thranduil.”

The words and tone were polite, distant, holding no memory of the warmth that had once existed between them. Well, if that was what Haldir wanted, he would not argue with him in front of mortals. He made the formal gesture of greeting and said softly, “Our Fellowship stands in your debt.” He might as well have held his breath; Haldir did not even seem to register his words, but turned immediately to the man beside him, smiling slightly.

“Aragorn of the Dúnedain. You are known to us.”

Was he dreaming, or was Haldir’s tone warmer to this dishevelled man than to himself? How well did they know each other? Why had Aragorn not mentioned that he knew Haldir? How long had Aragorn spent in Lothlórien? Did Aragorn know about Haldir and him?

Gimli’s curse seemed to echo in the darkened forest, the harsh, guttural sounds grating on delicate elven ears. Legolas didn’t understand the dwarvish language but he fully appreciated the effect it had on Haldir, who was visibly restraining himself from reaching for his knife. For the first time, Legolas felt a spark of warmth for the feisty little dwarf and suppressed a grin. Anyone who could provoke that much reaction from Haldir couldn’t be all bad.

Haldir became, if possible, even more aloof and disdainful than before, and he took Aragorn to one side to discuss their situation in private. Legolas, at once furious and despairing, found himself standing alone. Boromir was trying to comfort the hobbits, as he always did, and Gimli appeared to be rehearsing more choice phrases. No one had any attention to spare for him, and he looked out into the dark forest feeling sorry for himself.

Maybe this had been a mistake. He had been so sure that once he saw Haldir again everything would be mended between them. How foolish! Now he was bound to a quest that had no chance of success, in order to gain the attention of someone who obviously didn’t care. Haldir didn’t want to speak to him; all the other Lórien elves were ignoring him, and even the others in the Fellowship were too caught up in their own troubles to see that he was suffering. The only one who knew about his love for Haldir and might have given him some comfort was now lying dead in a cave behind them. Unnoticed by anyone, he let a silent tear fall.

* * *

The next day brought confirmation, if that was needed, that his life had gone from bad to worse. After another walk through the forest, which Legolas found a pleasant stroll but Gimli and the hobbits found a strain, they were led up an almost-endless series of walkways to the royal talan. They stood there, in front of the most celebrated elf in all Middle-Earth, and Legolas was forced to endure in silence as she regarded him with sorrow and barely-suppressed anger. The news of Gandalf’s fall shook her, but did not deflect her from addressing him directly in his mind.

*I shall speak with you, Legolas, before you leave Lothlórien. I daresay you know why.*

*Yes, my lady.*

Try as he might, he couldn't suppress the feeling of dread that settled in his stomach - or her grim satisfaction at his discomfort.

* * *

That night was filled with lamentations for Gandalf, the ethereal voices weaving and blending through the forest until it seemed as if the very trees were mourning. Legolas couldn’t help but wonder if Haldir’s voice was among them: that clear light voice that had sung to him so often, warming his heart as sunlight warmed his skin. So many years since he had heard that voice... but it was impossible to hear one among so many, and no certainty that the one he sought was even a part of it. Haldir had disappeared while they were talking with Galadriel and Celeborn, and he had not seen him since, though he had looked for him, despising himself for it even as his eyes searched the shadows. Perhaps he had gone back to the borders.

Legolas sighed. At least the songs provided a ready excuse for his own sadness, and for that he was thankful. He wandered aimlessly around the clearing that housed the Fellowship, and envied the little hobbits, who released their grief in tears and reminiscences and then found comforted in food and sleep. From what Aragorn had told him of their journey from Bree to Rivendell, they would be their normal ebullient selves within hours.

It was not the same for elves. Grief for lost ones was a constant part of life, to be tempered only by joy at life's renewal. This pain would lose its edge, eventually, becoming once more the dull ache that he had carried in his heart for the last few decades, but for a while it would sting like the bite of a spider, and he would simply have to endure it.

He wondered what his father would say if he returned to Mirkwood when the Fellowship left Lothlórien.

* * *

He spent the next few days waiting for Galadriel’s summons. He ate his meals with the Fellowship, though he was unable to take more than a few mouthfuls. He made sure that the hobbits knew their way around the immediate area, and helped Boromir conduct weapons drills with them, for they were still in sore need of practice. After bandaging their cuts, he showed them where to find some of the more common medicinal herbs that grew in the forest clearings. Sam immediately made a collection and dried them out over a brazier.

He polished his bow, and braided a dozen new bowstrings. He cleaned and straightened his arrows, thankful to be rid of the faint stench of orc blood that had lingered in his nostrils since Moria. He sharpened his knives. He repaired a small tear in his tunic, debating whether or not to order a new outfit while they were here, but deciding against it in the end: the Mirkwood suede was tougher than the cloth the Lórien elves wore, and he had a hard journey ahead of him, be it north or south.

He took long walks through the forest by himself, revisiting the places he had known when he had lived here with Haldir. But if he had thought to return to those happier times, he was mistaken. The Lórien elves were polite, but there was no warmth in their voices, no smiles on their faces. They did not speak to him unless he spoke first, and their answers were short. When he inquired about Haldir he was told only that the guardian had returned to the northern marches. Wherever he went, there were careful eyes watching him, as though he were not to be trusted; it made him feel very uncomfortable.

Each night he tried to sleep and could not. At most he dozed for an hour or so before dawn, and it was not enough, not even for an elf. The Fellowship noticed his pallor and the shadows that appeared under his eyes, and ascribed his condition to grief. Each of them had tried, in his own way, to comfort Legolas: the hobbits with food and games, the men with weapons practice, and the dwarf with a few pithy remarks on the delicate nature of elves, aimed solely at provoking a spark of anger. None of it had helped.

* * *  
Two nights later, Legolas was sitting in the darkness, curled up against the trunk of a mallorn not too far from where the hobbits were sleeping, when he heard Aragorn's quiet footsteps approaching. He didn't stir, and the man sat down beside him in the still of the night, not looking at him but staring out into the trees.

After a few minutes of brooding silence, Aragorn spoke. “Legolas, are you well?"

Legolas thought about it. He certainly was not ill or wounded, but he did not feel well. Nor did he feel like discussing how he felt. He wondered if Aragorn would accept a short answer and go away. "I'm fine."

"You seem... sad."

Obviously not. Legolas was about to make a cool but firm denial when he realised that he wouldn't be able to say so convincingly, since he was, in fact, so far beyond sad that he would have welcomed it as light relief. Instead he remained silent, hoping that Aragorn would get the hint.

Aragorn tried again. "I know that you knew Gandalf for much longer than any of the Fellowship, and it is only natural that -"

"It is not that." Now why had he said that? It would only lead to more questions.

"Then why do you sit here all alone? Why do you stay with us day after day? I would have thought that you would be joining your fellow elves for the time that we are here. I have been grateful for your help with the halflings, but there is no need for you to stay with us every day if you would like to be with your kin. Boromir and I can look after them easily enough."

"No, I am content to stay here."

"You stay here, but you are not content. Why do you not join your friends?"

"They are not my friends, not anymore."

"What happened?"

Legolas made no answer, but Aragorn persisted.

"Is there anything that I can do to help?"

“No, Aragorn, it is not a matter that you can help."

Aragorn didn't look convinced, and Legolas sighed. He debated, for a moment, whether to blame his situation on the perennial uneasiness that characterised the Mirkwood-Lothlórien relationship, but then remembered that Aragorn would have seen Mirkwood messengers in Lórien before, and would know it for a lie. There was nothing for it; he would have to tell Aragorn some version of the truth - though not, obviously, the whole truth, or anything like it.

He sighed, and let his voice become troubled. "There is one here who hurt me, long ago, and his people do not care for me. I should not have come here.”

“Who hurt you?” Aragorn sounded astonished.

“One of the guardians. Do not inquire further, Aragorn, it was a long time ago, even as we reckon time, and I do not wish to speak of it.”

He refused to meet Aragorn's eyes as he spoke, and missed a spark of sympathy that flared in the grey eyes.

Aragorn sat with him for another hour before rising to seek his own bed. They had not spoken again.

* * *

Though he said nothing more, Legolas noticed that Aragorn observed him more closely the next day, and he regretted telling the man anything at all. He knew that Aragorn saw how the Lórien elves avoided him, and if they could not, they looked past him. He knew that Aragorn would see past Legolas's supposed indifference, and it angered him that he had revealed a weakness.

That evening he made an effort to steal away as soon as dinner was over, using all his woodcraft to evade the man who, as he had anticipated, tried to follow him. It was another clear night, and he found himself miles from the city, close to Cerin Amroth, before midnight had passed. He sat in the clearing for several hours, undisturbed, and found a semblance of peace at last.

* * *

It was not until after sunset on the sixth day that one of Galadriel’s handmaidens came for him. He rose and followed her to the royal talan, climbing the many steps slowly but steadily.

Galadriel was waiting in her chamber, sitting at a bench that looked out over the expanse of tree-tops that was her realm. Legolas felt her power as he approached her, the overwhelming sense of stillness that reflected her age in a way that her face, still unlined, could not.

Galadriel gave a gentle smile as she dismissed the waiting woman and bade Legolas sit with her. Though she offered him the usual refreshments, he could sense that she was not at ease with him. He waited patiently for her to speak.

She placed her cup down on the bench beside her before she took a breath, as if she were faced with an unpleasant task that she wished to complete as expediently as possible. “When you were born, Legolas, I looked into the Mirror and foresaw a life of pain for those around you. I hoped, when I met you, that my prediction was wrong, for you were a sunny, happy elfling, whose presence brought joy, not pain. But the vision was true, for you have hurt all those who love you. Those who love you most have, inevitably, been the ones who suffered the most. Haldir…" her voice trailed off, as if she felt the guardian's pain as her own. "You have hurt Haldir so badly that he may never recover.”

"He hurt me! He left me! I did nothing!" The words spilled out of him before he even realised that he was speaking, and he was mortified to hear how much he sounded like an elfling.

“I know you did nothing - you did nothing at all to stop him.

"I told him not to go."

Galadriel's features hardened slightly as she repeated his words. "You told him not to go."

Legolas held his breath and prayed that she would not choose that moment to take a stroll through his memories.

Galadriel persisted, almost as if she enjoyed watching him squirm "Did you ask him? Did you beg him? Did you ever ask him what made him leave? Did you ever ask him what he endured to be with you? Did you give any consideration to what he might be feeling in the depths of Mirkwood, surrounded by your father’s people, branded by your father’s prejudices? Of course you didn't. You were happy in Mirkwood and assumed he would be, too. You shut your eyes and ears to all the insults, the taunts, the threats. You saw only what your father wanted you to see, and not for the first time, either."

Legolas felt himself bristling at the implied insult to his father. He started to speak, but was cut off.

"You have not sought him out since you arrived. That hardly indicates the depth of feeling I was looking for."

"I have asked for him. No one will tell me anything." Eru! Could he sound any more petulant if he tried?

"Have you done anything else, apart from sitting and moping in a tree because no one will talk to you? You know our boundaries. Have you offered to carry supplies to the northern outpost? Have you asked Rúmil for his assistance? Or Celeborn? Or me?"

He shook his head. Galadriel drew breath and Legolas waited for the worst of it. He wasn't disappointed.

"You are proud, Legolas. Pride has ever been the downfall of the line of Oropher, and I warned you of this, but you did not listen. You have turned inward, and have no time for anyone but yourself. You are not worthy of him. I doubt that you are able to love at all."

“But I do love him. I came here for him. I only joined this quest so that I could see him!”

It was, most definitely, the wrong thing to say, and he knew that immediately. The temperature in the room dropped as Galadriel's face turned white with the effort to control herself. The power radiating from her now gave her an eerie glow, and she almost hissed as she spoke. “And so it comes to this. You have taken the place of a warrior; you risk the One Ring, the future of all Middle-Earth, in order to further your selfish desires." She shook her head. "Elrond was right: it should have been Glorfindel.”

Maybe Elrond was right.

Galadriel spoke again, her voice becoming colder by the minute. "There is little that I can do to remedy this situation, but I shall do whatever I can to ensure that this Quest is accomplished." Her gaze became even harder, her eyes like ice in the moonlight, and suddenly Legolas felt a deep-seated fear in him. Half-forgotten childhood tales came back to him; stories of the Noldorin princes casting their enchantments over the Sindar and leading them into subjection and torment. It was the Noldor who had caused the loss of Beleriand. It was the Noldorin High King, Gil-Galad, who had caused the death of his grandfather, Oropher. Now, as he tried to look away, and failed, he realised that this being in front of him was a Noldorin princess, and her power surpassed that of any in Arda. Self-will evaporated as she held his mind with her eyes, and her voice resonated in his head.

*You no longer have a choice, Legolas Thranduilion. You will complete this quest, whether you like it or not. You will see it through to the bitter end. You will give every ounce of your support to Aragorn, who must now bear the burden of leadership. You will not fail him. Whatever he needs of you, you will give, to the very last drop of your blood. Do you understand?*

The words thrummed within him along tendrils of power that rasped his nerves, as harsh as the scrape of sword along bone. He could no more resist her compulsion than he could have stopped the waters of the Anduin from flowing, and it was with no surprise that he heard himself say, "Yes, lady.”

Galadriel relaxed, and Legolas found himself able to move once more. He dropped his gaze while he recomposed himself, and when he had regained sufficient control to look up, the terrible light had faded from her eyes, but her expression was still grim.

"Go now. Tell no one of this."

"Yes, Lady"

He left, relieved to be gone from her presence, but unsure if he remained under her compulsion. He tried to turn back, but his feet would not obey him.

* * *

Legolas returned to the mallorn where the hobbits lay, gently snoring and snuffling in their sleep, with the two men and the dwarf close by. He guessed, correctly, that Galadriel's compulsion would ease once he reached them, and he thought about where he would go now. He could not remain in the clearing with the Fellowship; his thoughts were too disordered. He needed silence and a place where he could nurse his shattered heart in peace and so, taking his knives and bow from his pack, he struck out into the forest once more.

Though his own passage was as silent as ever, his thoughts were disordered and his senses dulled, and he did not see Aragorn rise to follow him. He was startled, therefore, when Aragorn sat down outside the tiny cave that Legolas had picked as his hiding place.

"Legolas, my friend - "

"Go away!"

"Legolas, you grieve. Let me help you."

"You cannot help me."

"Tell me what troubles you, for I know that it is more than Gandalf's death."

"Stick to comforting your men, Aragorn. You know nothing of a grief that spans centuries. It is none of your concern."

"It is my concern, Legolas. You are a part of the Fellowship. Anything that affects you affects us all. If your senses are dulled by grief and fatigue, then the Ringbearer and the others are at risk."

Legolas made a sound that, in anyone less elegant, would have been called a snort. Aragorn ignored it. "Tell me."

"No."

"Then you leave me no choice. I shall ask Galadriel to tell me."

"No!" Legolas swung around. He could not allow Aragorn to speak to Galadriel on this matter.

"Then tell me yourself."

"No."

"Galadriel it is, then." Aragorn started to rise, as if to go, but stopped as Legolas turned to face him.

"Please... Please do not ask Galadriel about this." His voice was small, pleading, desperate, and he despised himself for it.

"Tell me, Legolas. Tell me what has happened. I shall not ask Galadriel if you tell me yourself." Slowly Aragorn reached out a hand and laid it gently on Legolas's arm.

Legolas took a deep breath. He had to tell Aragorn enough to make sure that the man would leave him alone, but not so much that he would order Legolas from the Fellowship. "I... I fell in love." He paused, noting Aragorn's reaction - a small spark of interest. "With a Lórien elf. A long time ago - I was very young. We were happy for a while, and I thought that he truly loved me." He almost smiled as he thought about the wonderful years that he and Haldir had spent together. "Then my brother and nephew were killed, and I was recalled to my father's realm. Ha-He came with me, but he didn't like it there, not enough to stay. He left me. He knew that I could not leave, not without my father's permission, but he left. It broke my heart."

"I'm sorry." Aragorn's voice was full of sympathy. "I did not realise that it was so personal a matter. I am sorry that you have suffered. I shall not bother you again, but know that you can speak to me at any time if you wish."

Legolas felt a tendril of warmth steal through him at the tone in the man's voice. Was that a part of the geas that Galadriel had put on him? He shuddered. He sincerely hoped not.

* * *

The rest of the visit passed almost without incident. Legolas continued to spend his time with the dwarf, the hobbits and the two men, and the elves continued to ignore him. He thought that he caught a glimpse of Haldir - or was it Rúmil? - in the distance one afternoon, but by the time he had reached that spot the blond elf was long gone.

It was not until their last day in the forest that he finally had the chance to see Haldir once more. If he had imagined that they would have the chance to talk, to discuss the issues that had kept them apart for the last century, he was mistaken. Haldir's eyes remained cold, his expression distant and proud. And yet, Legolas could feel that the Lórien elf was watching him, covertly, his eyes following him as he moved.

They managed to negotiate the picnic meal and the preliminary farewells without incident. Then, however, Galadriel had asked them to stand in line to receive their elven cloaks. By a strange coincidence (or was it?), it was Haldir who stood opposite Legolas and placed the hithlain cloak around his neck. As he fastened the mallorn-leaf brooch his fingers brushed the sensitive skin at Legolas's throat, causing Legolas to stiffen almost (but not quite) imperceptibly, in response to the flood of sensation that washed over him - quite out of proportion to the fleeting touch. Why was Haldir doing this? It would not have been difficult for him to have placed himself opposite Aragorn, or Boromir, so why him, Legolas? He tried to look into Haldir's eyes, but the guardian avoided his gaze with ease, stepping back with the others to stand behind Galadriel as she presented her gifts.

When Legolas saw his gift, he knew that Haldir had perfected the art of revenge by humiliation. Legolas had come to Lórien with a Mirkwood bow. His old Lórien bow, a gift from Haldir in their first year, had worn out decades ago, and he had been too proud to ask for another. The Lórien bows were more powerful than those of Mirkwood, but no one knew why; perhaps it was the wood they used, the curing process, or the peculiar double curve. He had tried, as had his armourers, to duplicate it, but their best efforts had been far inferior, though they had managed to make some improvement in range and power from their old designs. There was simply no substitute for a Lórien bow, and Legolas had resigned himself to the fact that he would never have the chance to obtain another, since trade in weapons was not encouraged by either realm. Now he was being presented with one - a singularly fine specimen, too, that was just the right length, weight and strength for him, though no one had measured him or fitted him. Only one person had the knowledge to have made this bow, and that was Haldir.

He looked up, unable to hide his joy in receiving such a work of art, and met a gaze of such terrifying neutrality that he was shocked. Thankfully, he retained enough presence of mind to make a short but formal speech of thanks, but he might as well have been speaking to the Lonely Mountain.

Legolas looked into Haldir's eyes, and tried once more to say the words he had travelled so far to say: "I'm sorry. I love you. Please forgive me."

But there was no reply.

THE END


End file.
